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It is 3:48 a.m. on a weekend morning. I’m not sure if it’s Sunday or Monday but it doesn’t really matter because every day is Sunday or MOnday to me.

For the past couple of months I have been in a stupendous depression. I am not really sure what caused it but I suppose about two or three variables that could be involved.

Me and him have not spoken all week. I’m sure to hear it told to one of his buddies out of his own mouth it would sound like chinese to me. None of it would be intelligible, that is unless I spoke Mandarin or Cantonese….and you never know, one of those is on my bucket list.

I had my first sip of drink in over a week earlier this evening. I say “this evening” but I think the sip which was granted to me as a full-fledged DRINK was poured after midnight.

I ain’t drunk.

I ain’t buzzed.

Nothing.

it’s 4:10 a.m. now.

I am not mad about being ignored. I never was. I did nothing to be ignored. The only thing I did was ask my partner of 6 years some questions about some weird shit on his bank statement and he made it into a whole thing so he could ignore me, I suppose.

I turned 42 this past Monday. I have had a pretty strong feeling for several years that life is going to change at 42. My birthday is 4-2. If you google forty-two, here’s what you find: PURE BADDASSERY You’ll also find THIS.

I’ve been so depressed since Christmas I haven’t cared much for hygiene, but on my birthday, since I was being ignored anyway, I took the first selfies I’ve taken in a hundred years.

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I feel creative energy jingling my private parts.
I like to write and I also hate to write. I am getting over hating it now that I am starting to understand that I was lied to as a child and I actually do possess a brain that functions, as well as a pretty fair amount of other desirable traits.
My own acceptation of the inherent knowledge and talent I possess took a long time for me to understand and believe. I'm still not there yet, and neither are my writing skills. However, I heard many years ago, from a source which I cannot recall, that one can not expect to improve upon something which one does not practice.
Let the practice begin!
I AM:
Charming, witty, funny, dreamy, screamy, honest, angelic, demonic, intuitive, fanciful, over-reactive, angry, sweet, ex-dope fiend, petulant, unsane, genius, idiotic, truthful to a fault, eiditic memory, beautiful, sad, melancholy, aloof, clingy, maniacal, suicidal, dancing, old-fashioned, fuckin weird, sesquipedalian, exuberant, anxious, bipolar, fertile yet sterile, ambiguous, impulsive, impetuous, artistic, conspiracy enthusiast, moody, non-trusting, musical, flighty, drinks like a machine, fear of rejection, prone to isolation, fearless, fearful, analytical, conservative yet liberal, irrational, enigmatic, low self-esteem projecting high self-esteem, positivity cheerleader for others, worried yet carelessly optimistic, sexy, sometimes argumentative, mentalist, book-lover, procrastinator, initiate, loving, people-watcher, people-pleaser, numb, first-class twerker, major depressive, feelings denier, possibly some kind of schizo, definitely borderline, possibly bipolar, drawn to the esoteric like a moth to a flame, ferocious, tender, mother, fierce, strong yet so very weak, prone to addictions, mediator and meditator, introvert, healer, lover and a fucking fighter....a paradox personified.

I lived with and was married to a female malignant narcissist for 12 years who has BPD and HPD. I endured significant trauma, gas lighting, degrading comments and was left feeling worthless. Now I'm out, living with C-PTSD and watching my kids be treated like textbook Golden Child and Scapegoat children. My daily struggle to get them the hell away from her claws. Have questions, comments, advice? Ask, tell, share. I am here to recover.